In one of my daily meditation books, a few questions leaped off the page at me: "In addition to my drinking problem, what character defects contributed to my financial instability? Did fear and inferiority about my fitness for my job destroy my confidence and fill me with conflict?" Yes, yes, yes, yes and YES!!
I've looked for writing jobs on-line and, finding ones I know I could do, I don't apply for them. I'm afraid they won't hire me because of my lack of experience, lack of a degree or because I'm a bad writer. Without letting them say, "no", I let the job pass, waiting until it seems too late to apply anyway, too afraid to try. I don't even know what a writer's resume looks like anyway.
I've been a real grouch lately. I think the newness of the joy of this rediscovered love for writing has worn off. Depression feels like it's climbing back inside me (could just be self-pity). However, I've kept writing every day. I've submitted the short piece I wrote to a writing contest. I'm working hard on a new story. I have a short story I wrote when I was younger still untouched.
Maybe, making the blog public has somehow given me a dose of reality I don't like. After all, fear convinced me that no one ought to see it, would want to see it, much less like it. Unreasonable expectations charged to the front and painted a picture of everybody reading it, loving it and, suddenly, I'm famous! Despite the kind words of encouragement and support I've gotten from friends, my fragile ego demands more! So I'm depressed that "not enough" people have read this. "Not enough" people have celebrated my brilliance . . . my blog hasn't been made into a movie, and I haven't met Liz yet, told her how Eat, Pray, Love was a catalyst to change in my life; AND, she hasn't subsequently read my blog and told me how profound and wonderful it is!
I think my secret expectations are a little high. No wonder I'm feeling sorry for myself. Ingrate.
Then, I read about Yudhi (pronounced You-Day), a brilliant musician, who in the wake of 9/11 was deported back to Indonesia, forcing him to leave his American wife back in Brooklyn, thus dashing their marriage on the rocks. It's left him to wonder, "Dude, why is life so crazy like this?" p. 250 The U.S. government deported Yudhi as a Muslim terrorist suspect (he's a Christian Javanese) after detaining him for a period of time without due process, which we all know was the fate of many others, including U.S. citizens.
It's sad. It's unfair. I read ahead a little and saw that Liz asked Ketut the same question: "Why is life so crazy like this?" I'll save the answer for tomorrow. Today, I will stay in today . . . and, wallow? Wondering why life is so unfair, when it really isn't? I've been given an opportunity to pursue a dream! Am I bungling it? Am I doing enough to honor the gift God has given me?
I'm reminded of what my friend said the other day, that my blaming myself, my talking crap about myself (as a failure, as inept, as a loser) is slinging an undeserved bag of garbage over my shoulder. The bag is leaky and it's making me smell.
There's a plan. Somewhere, there's a plan.
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